


Found Trousers

by spacehopper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Reunions, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20017930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: “Do you ever think the easy lies are better than the truth?”Varric tells Cassandra a story about ring, and some of it may even be true.





	Found Trousers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greygerbil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/gifts).



Varric knew there was no point in hiding the second he saw her eyes lock on. They’d sure chosen right when they’d made her a Seeker, and it was a fact that continued to haunt him. His hands tightened around the torn leather draped across his lap. Already the second haunting of the night.

“Why are you still here?” she said, cutting straight to the quick as usual. Stiff and overly formal in the seat across from him even now, and not someone Varric would’ve said he wanted to talk to when he began his night. Still, she might be just the distraction he needed. 

“One last drink for the road,” he replied, lifting his cup and knocking it back. A shit brew, and just the sort of thing he needed right now. “Here to interrogate me on last time, Seeker?” He slid his ring idly off his finger, turning it in his hand. Trying to decide if keeping it on was better or worse, given what he’d found.

“No,” she snapped. “I—I just wanted to see how you were going.” She glared as his eyes brows lifted. “That is, how your packing was going. Since you are leaving, aren’t you?”

“So eager to see me gone? I’m hurt. I thought we’d built something here.”

The disgusted noise was almost a balm, with its irritating familiarity. Maybe that’d be how he passed the time, playing on her weak spots. Some people drank to forget, but Varric had always found stories worked better. And Cassandra wouldn’t take much to turn into a rapturous audience. 

But she never had done what he wanted, had she?

“What is that?” She nodded at the ring, honing in as usual on exactly what Varric didn’t want to talk about. 

From the way she frowned, he could tell he hadn’t hidden his expression as well as he’d hoped. Better get it over with then. Even like this, he could spin quite the story. He slid the ring back into place, settling back into his hair with a sigh. If she wanted a tale, he’d give her one. For the road, and all that followed. 

“The Ring of Found Trousers. Picked it up on the Wounded Coast, from a notorious bandit who tried to name himself Wilber the Wise, but mostly got called Witless Willy. So there Hawke and I were...”

* * *

“You sure we don’t need back-up?” Varric said, giving the empty beach an eyeball hairier than Bartrand’s ass. It smelled like an ambush, and he meant that literally. The stench of lyrium and rotting fish was unmistakable. 

“It’s only Witless Willy,” Hawke replied, waving a hand dismissively. Or maybe he was just trying to clear the air. “You really think we can’t take him?”

“I never like to gamble when I can cheat.” Varric nodded at a small cave just off the path.

Hawke grinned at him brighter than all the gold around Dulci de Launcet’s neck at the Viscount’s Satinalia Feast. It was an impressive feat; Dulci didn’t skimp on the jewelry when she thought she could show someone up. 

“And we can do the ambushing for once.” Hawke clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing tightly before striding in the direction of the cave. “Brilliant as always.”

“Someone has to be the brains around here,” Varric said, jogging after him. Not that Hawke didn’t have a sharp mind. But if his ego got any bigger, it might just pop. Best Varric helped keep it in check.

Just as they reached the cave, Hawke stopped, Varric slamming into his back. Before he could ask what was up, Hawke dragged him to the ground, throwing himself on top of Varric and shouting a spell just as a blue flash came from the direction of the smell. A smell whose origin became horrifically apparently when the rotting fish carcasses smacked against the dome Hawke had created, before sliding to the ground. Another explosion followed, then another wave of fish, just as big but less intact, much like Dulci de Launcet’s jewelry the day after Satinalia. Varric had always suspected it might be an intentional donation. Hidden depths, those De Launcets. 

“You know,” Hawke said, when it was clear the fishy fracas was finally finished, “I always wanted to see flying fish.” His hand brushed Varric’s hair, but he didn’t move, and for now, Varric was fine with that. Let the big, burly human take the brunt of the fish.

But as the minutes passed, however much he might like the protection, it was getting a bit uncomfortable. So he gently elbowed Hawke in the stomach, and muttered, “Time to get a closer look?”

“You volunteering?” Hawke said, getting to his feet with a groan. He held out a hand for Varric, which Varric took gratefully, before being unceremoniously tugged towards the epicenter of the aquatic assault. 

They both stopped at the edge of an ashy imprint. All that was left of Witless Willy, along with a plain gold ring in the center.

“Humans really shouldn’t play with lyrium.” Varric shook his head, nudging the edge of the circle with a foot. 

“I don’t know, I find it’s a good test of character.” 

Proving his own character was rather more sterling than Willy, Hawke didn’t move closer, instead casting a spell and eyeing the results with the sort of suspicion he usually had for Gamlen’s latest great idea. 

“Find something good?” Varric said.

“It’s...” Hawke cast the spell again, shaking his head. “Seriously, this is why I should never listen to Gamlen. A magical ring of great power, he said.” Hawke stepped into the center, picking up the ring before tossing it to Varric. “You better keep this.”

“What is it?” Varric said, sliding it onto his finger. 

“Ring of Found Trousers.” Hawke gave him a lecherous grin. “After all, I already have enough trouble losing mine.”

Varric snorted. “And finding ones that don’t belong to you.” He thought sadly of their rather extensive torn trouser collection. Still hadn’t fenced those. Hopefully Hawke would forget before the Seamstresses put a hit on them both.

“Yeah, I better keep this one safe.”

* * *

“Anyway,” Varric said, taking a long pull of his drink. “Turned out that the ring had actually been stolen from the Seamstresses in the first place, but when I tried to return it, they didn’t want it back. Still, they were grateful enough that we got rid of Willy they even took the trousers off our hands. Or legs. Not that we were wearing them, mind you. Always seemed to collect elf sized ones, for whatever reason.”

Cassandra gave him a flat took. One he understood, and decided to graciously acknowledge. 

“You don’t believe me, Seeker?” 

She rolled her eyes. They’d played this game enough times now he could see her lips twitching, even as she waited for Varric to admit it, to come up with another version of the tale. Another story being told. 

“Fine, fine. I might’ve embellished just a bit,” Varric confessed, like the penitent sinner her was. 

“A bit?” Cassandra said. “Do you seriously expect me to believe you have a ring that finds trousers?”

Varric laughed, and hoped it didn’t sound as hollow as it felt. “Do you ever think the easy lies are better than the truth? But no, you wouldn’t would you?” In a fit of impulse he was sure he’d regret, he dropped the torn trousers onto the table. “Rift spat them out. Think we should test them?”

Cassandra recoiled, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Recognizing exactly what Varric had, when a curious scout had brought them to him. 

“The Nightmare,” she said. And damn her for her perception, she didn’t leave it there, following it up with an invasive question Varric couldn’t even fault. Not when he’d prompted it, practically begging for her to pry. Maybe he wanted a shoulder to cry on, but damned if he couldn’t have picked one less pointed. 

“They’re Hawke’s?”

“Yeah.” Varric dragged a hand down his face. “Not much good they’re doing now, though. Who cares about the trousers, without Hawke?” He snorted. “Well, Hawke might. You know what he said, when he gave this to me? That it had a ‘special resonance’ with his trousers in particular. He was full of shit, of course.” His fingers tightened on the fabric, worrying one of the many gaping holes. 

“But if they came out of the Rift—“ 

Clearly, she’d thought he’d find a way. And that made two of them, idiots both. He took a deep gulp of his drink, then set the empty glass on the table. “I know, Seeker. One last reminder, before I go.”

“That can’t be how it ends,” Cassandra said, quiet but not quiet enough as Varric shambled towards the door, turning back to face her.

“You’re a romantic, Seeker. But reality’s a tragedy.” 

Behind Varric, he heard the tavern door swung open. A distraction, then, for him to make his great escape. And even better, someone Cassandra knew and hadn’t expected, based on her incredulous expression.

“Really, Seeker? That’s dramatic, even for you.”

“No, Varric. Behind you.” She gestured, fumbling for the words. 

“You seriously think I’m going to fall for that?” Not that it was like Cassandra to prank people. He still wasn’t sure she knew what a joke was. 

“I don’t know, you’ve apparently resorted to trouser theft. Who knows how much lower you can go?”

And Varric’s heart stopped. Third time’s the charm, if he was being haunted. It was almost enough that he didn’t look. But things would have really gone to shit if he didn’t respond to that voice, the one he’d wished he could dream about, the one he was glad he couldn’t. Slowly he turned, to take in the sight of a tall, bedraggled man, face stretched in grin wider than the Kirkwall harbor. Dirty, and gaunt, and tired, and fuck if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Varric had ever seen.

“I seem to have lost some trousers,” Hawke said, resting a hand on the bar in a way that was clearly intended to hide how much he needed support. 

Support Varric was happy to give as best he could, rushing over to Hawke, wrapping an arm around his waist. It was a position that should’ve been awkward, that shouldn’t have worked, but it fit them. Everything about them fit. And maybe he should be hiding it. But nobody was here but Cabot and Cassandra, and Varric wasn’t sure he cared anymore. Not with Hawke looking at him like that. Not with Hawke alive.

Hawke lifted Varric’s hand, laughing as he caressed the ring there. “You kept it? Really?” 

Like so many things with Hawke, the proposal had been half-joke, armor to conceal the squishy bits underneath. Varric knew how it was, pretty much was it in his own way. So of course he’d accepted. And after time, well. They’d always said they’d get real rings, but the documents were official enough. “Thought it might come in handy. It’s looking like I might be right.” 

He curled his fingers around Hawke’s, and he heard Cassandra gasp. And why not? If he was going for it, might as well show her where he’d gotten some of that material for her smutty literature of choice. He dug his fingers into Hawke’s hair, not giving one shit that it was oily and tangled, and yanked his head down to Varric’s level.

It was just like he remembered. A cliche that Varric would judge himself for, in different times, but right now it fit. And not the compliment it might seem, Hawke’s breath all too similar to that of a mabari, his beard as long as the most traditional dwarf. But damn, he still had the skill. And Varric had the desire to match, holding Hawke in place even as Cabot clunked a flagon pointedly on the bar. 

But unfortunately, they needed to breath. And Hawke was clearly exhausted, sagging harder against Varric when he finally pulled back. Though not so far gone he missed the chance to glance over at Cassandra, meeting her wide eyes with a wink. 

“It was a proposal,” Cassandra said, covering her mouth only a moment later when she realized she’d said it out loud. But ever the Seeker, she soldiered on only a moment later. “Your story, Hawke wanted you alone, and he protected you with his body. The exploding fish are still clearly ridiculous fiction, but the rest—“

“Really, Varric?” Hawke said, running fond fingers through Varric’s hair, leaving it in disarray. “You’re dishing all our dirtiest secrets?”

“No, I kept it clean for the Seeker. Not sure she could handle the dirty version.”

“I could!” Cassandra said, before realizing that was also the wrong thing to say. 

She buried her head in her hands as they both laughed, but looked up a moment later to smile at them in clear approval. And it was weird, but Varric was finding that mattered. She might not be the toughest crowd, spiky exterior barely hiding that bleeding heart, but it was good to know at least one person had their backs, in this if nothing else. 

“You have a bed I could use?” Hawke said. 

“I might be able to set you up,” Varric replied, as they hobbled awkwardly towards the door. “For a price, of course.”

“I might be able to set you up with a good source of trousers. Only lightly worn.” Hawke kissed the top of his head as the door shut behind them, letting Cabot’s parting critique filter through.

“I hate banging on my tables. Particularly that kind.”

Hawke let out a low laugh, and if Varric hadn’t already known he was besotted, that’d have done it, because it was the most beautiful music he’d heard in months. Maybe he’d write Cassandra another chapter. It seemed like he might have a line on a load of new material.

“You’re plotting,” Hawke said, as they made their way up the final steps to Varric’s room. “I can see those wheels turning.”

“I’m a writer. Sort of how it works.” He closed the door behind them, and made sure it was locked.

“Hmm,” Hawke said, collapsing on the bed, tugging off his boots before standing and tracing the line of his belt. “I think I’d be more of a pantser myself.” 

“Takes all types,” Varric said. “Where did you get those, by the way?” He nodded at the trousers Hawke was removing as seductively as months in the Fade would allow. Which was quite seductive, if Varric said so himself.

“Oh, these old things?” Hawke tossed them aside. “Well, it all started with this ring...”

Varric let the bullshit wash over him as Hawke dragged him down, and knew that whatever he’d lost, this was all he’d ever needed to find.


End file.
